


The Right Time

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Happy Ending, I'm having too many Markson feels, Love Confessions, M/M, Soft Ending, but it all goes wrong before it goes right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22350448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: “Mark’s at the hospital,” Jaebeom croaks.Jackson's world is pulled from under his feet, but nothing compares to the voicemail Mark left on his phone.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 42
Kudos: 184





	1. When the world breaks

**Author's Note:**

> Mark is twenty-three and the 94-line is twenty-two. Just a little fyi. If you completely skip this then the story will probably still make sense, but just so you have the same image in your head that I did when I wrote this ... yeah, moving on!

The night is cold and crisp, frost nipping at the edges of Jackson’s windows in intricate swirls and stars. He has three blankets piled high to fight the frigid temperatures outside doing their utmost to creep in through the left window that never fully closes. Night’s like these are the absolute worst in his small dorm, especially when the heating is always on the fritz in mid-winter. He tosses and turns, grumbling as he curls in to preserve heat. No matter what he tries, his feet stay freezing, occupying his mind to the point where he just can’t seem to fall asleep. He decides to turn again, shuffling under his sheets and twisting his legs so that his own calves can warm the lumps of ice posing as his feet. The pillow is soft and warm in his face, muffling all the sounds and lights as he closes his eyes determinedly.

Sleep will come if he simply wills it. 

It’s for this reason he misses the room light up while the phone on his nightstand stays silent. Jackson is turned towards the wall, unaware and lingering between a state of asleep and awake that blurs all the hours between midnight and morning into a series of vague, dark moments. The phone, which would have never been on silent if Jinyoung hadn’t threatened to drug Jackson if he didn’t get at least six hours of sleep every night, lights up intermittently, before going completely dark some seventeen minutes after midnight.

Jackson finally falls into a fitful sleep before the clock strikes one.

* * *

Mark’s fingers are frozen. It takes three tries to dial Jackson, then two more to press the call button. The alley he’s in is void of streetlight, nothing but the moon and whatever stars make it through the light pollution to show his destitute surroundings. A small pile of wooden crates stands all the way at the dead end, some black bags of garbage right next to them. Closer to the mouth of the alley is a green dumpster, ripped cardboard boxes thrown on a haphazard pile next to it. The cardboard does Mark the tiniest of pleasures, ensuring he’s not lying on the freezing asphalt, but the dumpster hides him from whoever would pass the alley. Moving throws him into agony, his legs losing their strength if he so much as breathes wrong. The darkness hides his tears while the cardboard underneath him soaks up the blood leaking from his right side. Mark can feel the knife moving, the edge of the blade cutting into his fingers as he attempts to keep the blood from leaking out passed the blade.

Taking the knife out will kill him faster, but there’s no denying that he’s already dying. This alley will probably be the last thing he ever sees, his own gasping breaths all to accompany him as he faces the worst terror he’s ever felt battling his heart.

The phone keeps ringing. It takes effort to keep it against his ear, pain and exhaustion making him tremble. His legs spasm when a cold gust of air makes him shiver, sending his thoughts into a spiral of _painhelpIdon’twanttodie!!_

 _“Heya, you’ve reached Jackson Wang!”_ The recorded message rings into his ear. _“Leave a message, or text me if it’s urgent.”_

The sob comes unbidden, tears blurring his poor vision. He pulls the phone back and presses re-dial. “Jackson,” he pleads, the name a prayer and a wish. He puts the phone back to his ear, warm blood leaking onto his arm as his legs go strangely numb. Everything is on fire, pain shooting through him with every breath, but a darkness is creeping in, a coldness coming from within his own bones.

Blinking passed his tears he tries to focus on the small strip of light he can see falling on the wall opposite him, tries to crane his head around the dumpster, and yells breathlessly. “Help! Help me!”

_“Heya, you’ve reached Jackson Wang! Leave a message, or text me if it’s urgent.”_

“Jacks, pick up,” Mark begs, the pain getting both better and worse as that strange frigidness keeps creeping in from inside. Staring at the wall is all he can do to keep from going under and the thought rips a sob from his throat. “I need to talk to you, Jackson, I just- I want to hear your voice. Please, please, just pick up. I just wanna talk to you. I’m- I’m scared and-“

Reality sets in like a falling brick, swallowing pride and reason as a black hole gapes at the end of every blink.

“I don’t wanna die,” he gasps, using the pain in his side that’s threatening to pull him under as an anchor to keep him sane. “I don’t wanna die in this stupid alley without ever telling you that I love you, that I’m in love with you. That all I ever want to do is make you laugh because it’s the best sound in the world. That you’re beautiful and- you’re gorgeous, Jackson, so gorgeous, I-“

It’s so cold. The world is darker. His arm is numb.

“I’m not scared when you’re with me,” he whispers through his tears. “I’m not scared when you-when you-” his voice breaks. Everything breaks because he’s talking to a voicemail and knows, is as certain as the knife in his side, that Jackson isn’t going to pick up, isn’t going to talk to him.

Mark is alone. Mark is scared.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, fighting the tears in his voice so much it causes his throat to become sand-paper. “I’m so sorry, Jackson. I love you and I thought I had time to figure out if you felt the same way, to just- I thought I had time to tell you. I thought- I thought I had a lifetime to tell you, even if you don’t-even if- if you don’t love me, I- … I’m sorry. I love you.”

The phone slides off his cheek, then he hangs up with eyes squinting to find the right placement for his finger. Without thinking he re-dials, presses speaker. Then he waits and hangs on to every single dial tone, any other sound of the world drowned out by the only thing that matters. Mark focuses on the blurry picture of Jackson Wang, of the boy with the endless snapbacks who pulled Mark in like a moth to a flame, of the boy with ceaseless smiles who broke Mark’s shell with nothing but warmth and friendship. It’s the man Mark fell for without wanting to or trying.

The picture is smudged with bloody fingerprints, and exhaustion plays havoc on Mark’s eyesight, but he knows the other’s image by heart. Auburn hair and a dimpled smile, eyes in crescents and hand up in the air to shove the photographer.

Mark smiles despite everything when the voicemail kicks in.

_“Heya, you’ve reached Jackson Wang. Leave a message, or text me if it’s urgent.”_

Mark indulges himself, imagines Jackson’s smile, teeth and all, as he cradles his phone in a trembling hand and whispers. “I love you.”

Then he hangs up and does it again. Waiting, endlessly waiting, for the voicemail, for the voice, for the pretense of Jackson being right beside him, for the soft confession of his most precious secret.

At the end, his thumb spasms and drags across the screen, hitting five buttons at the same time and throwing everything back to the home screen. Pain engulfs his midsection, breaths agony, while frigid veins have spread throughout the rest of his body.

“Jackson,” he whispers. The phone stays still. “Jackson.” Tears drip into his sweat-logged hair. Terror batters into his ribcage, no sound or view to help keep it at bay. Nothing but a memory and a name.

“Jackson.” Mark says it again and again, sobs breaking it in two as his eyes slide shut for the last time.

The darkness is greedy and pulls Mark in.

“Jacks-”

By the time the paramedics arrive, the boy in the grey sweater has pale blue lips and frozen tears on his face.

* * *

Yelling and pounding on Jackson’s door has him sitting up before he’s awake, scrambling to squint at his phone because he’s surely forgetting something important if Jaebeom is willing to almost break his door for it. There is no alarm or any notifications saying he’s missed class, a test, or a deadline, just a bunch of missed calls Jackson guesses are from his friend who’s about to be _murdered_ for waking him up on one of his precious free days.

“What!” He shouts irritably, gingerly pulling out from under his warm cocoon and doing a full body shiver as the cold air hits his blessedly warm extremities.

“Jackson!” Jaebeom finally ceases his incessant banging. “Open up! Something’s happened!”

The cogs in Jackson’s head are slow, but he’s alert enough to catch the choked-up voice. He narrows his eyes at the door, grabbing the nearest hoodie to stave off the cold and stuffing his phone in the front pocket before making three quick steps to the door and unlocking it. Then he’s staring at a fresh-out-of-bed Jaebeom, hair sticking up on the side and wearing that one brown sweater Jinyoung has threatened to burn over a dozen times because ‘it’s got actual _holes_ in the hem, hyung, you look like a hobo!’.

Jackson quirks an eyebrow, instantly worried. “What do you mean, ‘something’s happened’?”

“Mark’s at the hospital,” Jaebeom croaks.

It’s not like Jaebeom to forget honorifics. It’s not like Jaebeom to pound on Jackson’s door at dawn without any shoes on. It’s not like Jaebeom to look completely lost with a wetness in his eyes.

“I’m dreaming,” Jackson whispers. It’s the only logical explanation, the only way something this incongruent could ever make sense.

Jaebeom grimaces and grabs his arm. It hurts.

“You’re not dreaming!” Jaebeom’s angry but there are tears and Jackson feels more lost than ever.

“Hyung’s in the hospital. The police came by this morning because I’m written down as his next of kin and-“

Jaebeom stops. He licks his lips, hand still squeezing the life out of Jackson but the pain is barely an issue.

“And what?” Jackson presses hollowly. He can’t take his eyes off of Jaebeom, think passed the desperation of his hyung’s actions or stay away from what all of this evidence might point towards.

_Police, hospital, what?_

His next words are loud and angry, bordering on manic. “And ‘what’, Jaebeom-hyung!”

Jaebeom shakes his head, an apology on his face. “And he got stabbed, and he lost a lot of blood and-” his voice falls to nothing but a whisper,- “and they’re saying he might not make it.”

Anger is a fiery pressure that forces Jackson into action. Joy is a tickle in his belly that generates easy laughter. Sadness is a weight on his lungs and his heart.

This.

Jackson stares at Jaebeom with wide eyes, breathing but not breathing, seeing but not seeing.

This is _none_ of the above.

This is cold. This is nothing. This is a room with no windows and no doors and him huddling in the corner, as insignificant as the dust motes in the air. This is a nightmare Jackson wants to throttle until he wakes up, but Jaebeom’s hand still on his arm reminds him that’s not possible.

Jackson opens his mouth (what happened, what exactly did they say, where is he, can we visit him, who did it, can I help) only to whisper a single word. “Mark.”

Jaebeom clears his throat. “Namjoon-ah is going to take us. He’s waiting dow-”

The sentence continues but Jackson barely listens. A pair of black sneakers stand next to the door and he stuffs his feet in, grey pajama pants pooling at his ankles. Then he grabs his keys and wallet, stuffs them in his sweater, and slams the door.

Then he runs.

He starts at his door, down the stairs and into Namjoon’s waiting car, Jaebeom barely two steps behind, but Jackson never stops running. His heart keeps pounding, lungs fighting to bring air in while he stares out the window and sees nothing. He must keep running, keep going, keep _moving_ , because stopping feels like giving up. Stopping feels like Mark might stop too, and _that…_

That is not this.

The thought alone causes two tears to slide down Jackson’s cheek, clinging to his stubble and dripping onto his lap.

This is cold and dark and _pain_. But _that_ … Mark dying.

Jackson sucks in air through his teeth, a jolt seizing his body in a physical manifestation of mental anguish. The world spins away from him, strong waves pushing him out to sea without an anchor. He grabs the door and holds on, closes his eyes to force in breath after breath.

“Mark will be okay.” He mumbles the words over and over, desperate to convince himself lest the last tenuous line inside breaks. “Mark will be okay. Mark will be okay.”

* * *

Namjoon lets them out right at the doorstep of the hospital.

Jaebeom asks the nurse where they need to go.

Jackson keeps running.

His mind keeps turning and flipping, eyes barely seeing the floor numbers as they stand in the elevator, a bubble of grim silence dogging their steps.

 _Mark will be okay. Mark will be okay. Mark will be okay_.

The ICU. Jackson turns to stare at Jaebeom’s white face. The older’s hands are shaking. Jackson turns back. Takes a breath.

The ICU is not a good place to be.

_Mark will be okay._

They make it to the room near the end, two nurses and an orderly nodding respectfully even while Jackson ignores them completely. The room holds four beds. Two are occupied. One is awake. The other-

Jackson’s feet freeze two steps from the bed. From Mark’s bed. From Mark.

 _Mark will be okay_.

“Oh god, hyung.” Jaebeom grabs the railing at the foot of Mark’s bed (hospital bed, Mark’s in a hospital) and leans on it with a shuddering breath.

A very high-pitched sound hitches out of Jackson’s throat and he blinks. “That’s not Mark.” His voice is gravel, the wetness on his face lowering the tone. Jaebeom regards him with tired eyes.

“Jackson-”

“He was fine,” Jackson wrestles the words out, breathes faster and faster as he wants to hide from the monstrous contraption next to Mark’s bed that’s feeding the older man oxygen through a terrifying tube. “Yesterday, after class, he was fine.”

It feels important, crucial even, to say the words out loud. To make the universe understand that Mark _can’t_ be like this because he’d been laughing at Jackson’s lame jokes just yesterday, had been eating his cookies dipped in milk with that ridiculous happy giggle and _Mark had been fine_.

“He was with me,” Jackson stresses, his words wobbly. “He was with me yesterday for lunch and he was _fine_.”

Jaebeom stares at Mark’s feet. He gulps and his voice comes out pained. “They said it happened around midnight, near campus. He-his money was gone so … a mugging gone wrong, probably. He-” Jaebeom drags in a large breath,- “he called the ambulance himself, but after- there was no one around to-”

Jackson prays Jaebeom won’t finish that sentence, heart breaking at the stillness and whiteness and _wrongness_ of Mark lying so delicately in a hospital bed. But wishes on a star never saved anyone.

Jaebeom grits his teeth and brings his head up to look at Mark, expression hard but tear tracks visible on his face. “There was no one around to help stop the bleeding,” he confesses. “He almost bled out and they lost him twice in surgery and now he- his chances of waking up are slim if he doesn’t start breathing on his own again.”

There’s bile at the back of Jackson’s throat, heart still pounding, world still spinning, mind still running, running, running.

Unconsciously he’s stepping backwards. “Stay with him,” he begs. Jeabeom’s head snaps to him and Jackson has too many unshed tears in his eyes to see if the other is disappointed or angry. “Please,” he grates, pointing a blind hand at the hallway. “Bathroom.”

He’s out before Jaebeom can say anything, before the other can yell or curse or say anything else to make Jackson’s world crumble. The hallway sways, his stomach roiling as he stumbles to the nearest bathroom. It’s empty, stalls all open and freshly cleaned, lights reflecting off of the typically white hospital tiles. A line of mirrors decorate the right hand wall along with four large sinks, and Jackson grabs one to keep standing in whatever chaos his world just became.

Looking up reveals a pale and shaking man, brown hair sticking up in the front and lifeless at the back. Deep lines underscore his eyes, veins creeping in the ashen skin of his forehead. “Who the fuck are you,” he croaks at his reflection.

The answer is obvious and Jackson hangs his head, dragging in breath after breath to stay standing on shaky legs.

He’s a useless coward, running because the sight of Mark in a hospital bed drags rusted nails over his heart and soul.

_Where were you!_

He grabs the sink tighter and squeezes his eyes shut.

_Where were you when Mark needed you! Where were you when they hurt him!_

Desolate eyes stare at the sink. Words he no longer believes come out in a monotone mumble. “Mark will be okay. Mark will be okay.”

The pressing silence around him is loud in how it _doesn’t_ believe that.

A light from his sweater pouch draws his waning attention, his right hand slowly pulling out his phone. He still hasn’t turned it on, the screen shining with Jinyoung’s sunny smile and sunglasses. It takes a good three seconds before Jackson answers.

His voice slurs. “Jinyoung-ah.”

“Jackson-hyung?” Jinyoung makes a confused sound. “Where are you?”

“Hospital.” Jackson says, eyes still staring at the sink.

The other sighs brokenly. “Is Jaebeom with you? I keep calling him but he doesn’t answer.”

Jackson nods, then clears his throat.

_Mark will be okay but maybe Mark won’t be okay._

He blinks away the liquid in his eyes and croaks. “He’s here.”

“Thank god,” Jinyoung whispers, then his voice starts to shake. “Youngjae and I are taking the bus, so we’ll be there in twenty minutes. Yugyeom called and said he and BamBam are being brought by Jungkook. I didn’t-well, I said they couldn’t drive, so-”

It’s sensible really, but Jackson can only nod in response. He grips the phone tighter, hearing Jinyoung clear a wet throat and forces his vocal chords to function.

“Okay.”

A silence falls until Jinyoung questions shakily. “How’s Mark-hyung?”

Jackson almost screams, almost yells at the other how much he can’t answer that because _he called the ambulance himself but there was no one around to stop the bleeding._ Eventually he bites his lip, rides out the wave that leaves him light-headed, then sighs into the phone.

“Sleeping,” he answers timidly, wishing it truly was as simple as that. “Mark-hyung’s sleeping.”

Jinyoung understands because it’s Jinyoung. “Ah.” His voice breaks. “We’ll-we’ll be there soon, hyung.”

And Jackson truly is the scum of the earth, because all he can say is ‘thank you’ before he hangs up. If the others are here than Jaebeom won’t be alone and Jackson won’t have to leave the bathroom. Jackson won’t have to sit next to Mark, won’t have to watch his world burn from its epicenter, because Jackson never found ‘the right time’ to tell Mark how important he is to Jackson’s very existence.

_And now, you probably never will._

Terror and homesickness slice into him, gouging until he flinches from the pain and drops his phone with a harsh clatter into the sink. The screen lights up from the abuse and Jackson snatches it up more out of reflex than anything, turning it on without thought and eyes falling on the missed call symbol at the top of his screen.

Tapping it is a distraction, a temporary break from Mark’s white face swimming in his mind; hollow cheeks, veins popping under his eyes, and a tube disappearing into his mouth to keep him alive. His phone is simply a means to an end to keep the pain at bay.

At least, it was, until Jackson spots the name and time of the calls.

He sinks to the ground with a single painful breath. One hand holds the sink, his forehead leaning into the cold material, while the other cradles what cannot be real.

There are seven missed calls. All from Mark. All between 00:12 and 00:16.

Jaebeom’s words come back to him: _they said it happened around midnight._

“No,” Jackson gasps, eyes never leaving the name on his phone, finding six voicemail notifications to go along with the calls. “Mark, what…” Wide-eyed and trembling, kneeling on a bathroom floor, and heart pounding steadily in his head, Jackson clicks the first one. His hand shakes as he brings his phone up, as he stares at nothing when static leaks out of his phone and into his ear, silence for a bit and then … Mark’s voice comes through tight and low, the evidence of tears in his words.

_“Jacks, pick up,”_

The obvious plea has Jackson breaking, muffling his scream in his arm. Coming undone isn’t even close to describing how something just caves and unravels at hearing Mark sob over the phone.

_“I need to talk to you, Jackson, I just- I want to hear your voice. Please, please, just pick up. I just wanna talk to you. I’m- I’m scared and-“_

Jackson _keens_. He can’t stop shaking or crying, can’t stop listening to Mark’s terrified begging from a distance of time that Jackson will never be able to traverse.

All of this has already happened and Jackson slept through it.

Mark called while he was hurt and dying and _Jackson slept through it_.

_“I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die in this stupid alley without ever telling you that I love you, that I’m in love with you. That all I ever want to do is make you laugh because it’s the best sound in the world. That you’re beautiful and- you’re gorgeous, Jackson, so gorgeous. I-I’m not scared when you’re with me._

The confession has Jackson frozen, arms tight and chest bursting with too many emotions because it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of and a waking nightmare all in one.

_”I’m not scared when you-when you-”_

“I’m here,” Jackson finds himself whispering, uncurling from his arm and leaning his heavy head against the sink; heart bleeding and stomach turned to ice but ultimately so _desperate_ because Mark sounds terrified.

_“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jackson. I love you and I thought I had time to figure out if you felt the same way, to just- I thought I had time to tell you. I thought- I thought I had a lifetime to tell you, even if you don’t-even if- if you don’t love me, I- … I’m sorry. I love you.”_

The voicemail ends and Jackson drops his phone. It cracks on the tiles, scatters away in two pieces as the back pops off, and Jackson stares at the floor, hatred brewing in his ribs.

_JackspickupIwannahearyourvooiceI’mscaredI’minlovewithyouI’mnotscaredwhenyou’rewithmeI’msorryIloveyou_

With a primal yell he yanks himself up by the sink, hands gripping the cold porcelain as he glares daggers at his reflection. He bristles at the furious snarl he sees mixing with his broken tears. “Who the fuck are you!” he demands.

_I’msorryIloveyouI’msorryIloveyou_

Within seconds his fist is pulled back, aimed at the useless coward staring back at him, then fissures crack and spiderweb over the mirror, a sharp pain radiating in his right fist. The cracked mirror reveals a patchwork-man, shapes illogical and overlapping. It’s the realest thing Jackson has seen all day, the best visual explanation of who he currently is.

“Idiot!” His voice breaks and echoes, hands back on the sink because he’s staggering in the face of the biggest mistake of his life. "You’re a fucking moron!”

The silence thoroughly agrees with him this time. Slowly, he sinks to the floor again, breaths rattling and vision blurred. The bathroom is cold, but he still leans his head against the sink, trying to focus on the chill around him instead of the ice inside. "I'm an idiot," he whispers, tears still flowing. Because Mark called him, because Mark was scared, because Mark wanted to talk to Jackson _so badly,_ and Jackson simply went to sleep. Guilt rages and guts him, turning the bathroom into his own personal hell.

"I'm sorry," he repeats over and over in a small voice, "I'm sorry, Mark, I'm so sorry." With effort he hangs onto the sink, unseeing eyes staring straight ahead, as the force of his sobs threatens to topple him. The tiles don't offer him advice or comfort, not that Jackson thinks he deserves either of those things anyway.

Jackson has failed the one person he would have given anything to protect, left Mark all alone while the other was hurt and scared, and the guilt of that will forever be etched into his heart.

After an indeterminate amount of time, when the sobs have turned to nothing but painful breathing, his eyes slide to the left, cramped muscles of his body shuddering into movement as he shakily stands to collect his phone. His hand throbs and stings, but movement is still possible and Jackson pieces his phone back together before shoving it back in his sweater. Tears never stop pricking his eyes, throat currently as raspy as a cheese grater, but he forces himself out. Mark’s voice echoes in his head, the naked terror taking up permanent residency.

_I’m not scared when I’m with you_

Jaebeom doesn’t ask about the red hand, nor the silent entry, and Jackson doesn’t offer an explanation. He simply steals a chair from an unoccupied bed, takes vigilance on Mark’s left side, and vows to never leave. Mark’s hand is limp in his own, not cold per sé, but not nearly as warm as the older usually is, so Jackson wraps it with his own, brings it up to his mouth and gives it a trembling kiss.

“I’m right here,” he promises. “I’m not leaving you alone, Mark. I’m right here.”

Jaebeom never asks. Jackson never offers.

Five minutes later the others file in, tripping over themselves in their haste and worry and tears, and the waiting game truly begins.

They wait and wait, with Jackson always holding Mark’s hand, because _Mark will be okay._

_He will. He will. He will._


	2. And I unravel

Four days later, the nurses start to give Jackson terrifyingly sympathetic smiles.

Mark’s condition isn’t improving. 

No matter how many times Jackson snarls that it isn’t getting any worse either, they still begin to treat him like _he’s_ the delusional one. Like Mark isn’t going to get better …

“Screw you.” Jackson mutters under his breath at the orderly shooting him a pained look on the fifth day he steps into Mark’s room. He’s aware he looks like shit; face unshaven, clothes baggy and closer to pajamas than anything, while his skin hasn’t looked healthy since that morning Jaebeom banged on his door. With a nasty look of his own, he drops into his seat by Mark’s side. He’s missed two classes so far, opting instead to sit by Mark every day, all day. The others come and go, visiting as often as they can in their busy lives, but Jackson’s been completely MIA from everything.

All that matters is Mark’s voice in his head _(I’m not scared when I’m with you)_ and the constant fear at the back of his mind _(MarkmightdieMarkmightdieMarkmightdie)_ that’s numbing every part of life to the point of painful.

Even though Jackson never deserved Mark, deserves the angel of a man even less now, there is something primal in him that can’t let Mark be alone. Which is why he comes every day, from nine to six, and sits with Mark, worrying his friends to the point of anger.

He knows he should care about that, knows that he _does_ , but the guilt inside is gnarly and twisted and Mark still isn’t breathing on his own.

“Hey Mark-hyung, I’m back,” he says softly, squeezing the other’s arm before drawing his hand back and leaning on the bed. It still hurts to see Mark like this; beaten down and still, face contorted and slack with that damn tube keeping him alive. It’s almost impossible to pair it with the Mark Jackson remembers, with the high-pitched laughter, the smile that’s all teeth and mirth, or the soft looks that warm Jackson’s heart to the point of bursting. This Mark is a mere shell of who the man _is_ , of who Jackson sees every night in his dreams.

He tears his gaze away from the dark eyes and sunken cheeks only to land on the single slim hand resting on the covers. It’s still a tad too cold when Jackson holds it, just like every day. And just like every day, Jackson softly rubs it between his own.

“I know you’re tired, hyung, but you really need to wake up soon.” His eyes never leave Mark’s hand and he smiles painfully, voice choking up. “The others are starting to worry and you know how Jinyoung gets. He’ll worry himself into an early grave if given the chance, and Yugyeom and BamBam already have that covered so just-” he sneaks a look sideways. Mark hasn’t moved in the slightest, no difference in the soft beeps monitoring his heart or the pale color of his skin. Jackson swallows his tears and grabs Mark’s hand just a bit tighter. “Jaebeom’s been much more snappy lately, even Youngjae can’t handle it anymore. And I-” his voice stalls, a sudden lump in his throat turning it to gravel and he swallows. “I miss you, Mark-hyung, and I’m- I’m so sorry,” he says, just like every day.

And like always, nothing changes.

Mark doesn’t respond, doesn’t even twitch, and the never-ending beeping of the heart monitor destroys a little piece of Jackson every time. He carefully puts Mark’s hand down, nodding with a wry smile. “Okay,” he croaks, then quickly clears his throat and drags a hand down his face. His smile never reaches his eyes as he leans back and promises. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

He plays the same three nonsensical games that BamBam installed on his phone two weeks prior on a continuous loop.

Another day passes.

(Jaebeom glares at him and snaps he needs to get more sleep. Jinyoung simply throws him a teary-eyed glance and shakes his head, then squeezes his shoulder.

Youngjae brings him a sandwich with a sad, tight-lipped smile.

Yugyeom and BamBam treat him like he’s made of glass.)

Rinse. Dry. Repeat.

* * *

Jinyoung is standing in front of his door when Jackson opens it, almost causing him to walk into the younger. It’s only eight thirty and Jackson’s mind needs to do some early-morning gymnastics to conclude he isn’t hallucinating.

“Jinyoung-ah?” He blinks and frowns. “What are you doing here?”

Jinyoung crosses his arms and taps one foot, eyes narrowed. “No,” he says loud and clear, voice booking no room for argument.

Jackson blinks again. “…no?”

“Yeah, _no._ You’ve holed yourself up in that hospital for six days, missed three classes, are ignoring all of our calls and other attempts to talk to you, and I’m done. So _no_ , you are not doing it today.”

Jinyoung glares harder, but his eyes are red. When he draws in a breath, it sounds wet. “I’m not losing two friends in one go, _I can’t_.”

It’s the wrong thing to say and rage takes over before Jackson can stop it. With a yell he pushes Jinyoung back, slamming his door closed as he gets in the other’s space, ignoring the look of hurt flashing over his best friend’s face.

“Don’t you fucking dare! We haven’t _lost_ him! We’re not going to, either! Mark-hyung will wake up!”

Jinyoung holds up his hands, eyes wide and regretful. “That’s not what I- I didn’t mean-”

“Just shut up and get out of my way!” Jackson yells, glaring and huffing and _myfaultmyfaultmyfault_ crushing his heart.

“NO!” Jinyoung gets right back in his face, making him stumble backwards, and the younger stabs a finger in his chest, eyes narrowed. “You are going to listen to me, Jackson Wang, because I am _done_ watching you destroy yourself.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing, huh!” He counters incredulously, guilt painful as he desperately covers it with anger. “I feel like I’m the only one who still cares! I’m there, every day, while you’re standing here talking about _losing-”_

Jinyoung moves too fast, balling his fists in Jackson’s sweater and hissing furiously. “I don’t care how much you love him, you do _not_ get to pretend like you hold some sort of monopoly on grief when it comes to Mark-hyung! You’re not the only one hurting, you’re _not_ the only one wishing for a miracle every _fucking day!”_

Silence reigns, Jinyoung breathing heavily, eyes misty, and Jackson swallows angry words because the other is _right_ , though that doesn’t do anything for the pain in Jackson’s chest. It simply makes him realize he’s lashing out at the wrong person, turning his self-hatred on his friend for lack of another outlet.

It takes effort to force the words out, but he grabs Jinyoung’s shaking fists and breathes deep, suddenly hyper-aware of the bags under his friend’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, another wave of guilt because _shit, he’s been acting like an egotistical ass_.

Jinyoung glares, then his whole body sags and he steps back, hands letting go and gripping his hair. He sighs and lets his arms hang, expression painfully understanding. “It’s not like I’m saying you can’t be hurt, or that you can’t be hurt _worse_ , I just-” he grimaces,- “I just need you to let me _in_. Jaebeom can’t eat, I can’t sleep, Youngjae barely comes out of his room and I’m positive Yugyeom and BamBam haven’t so much as _smiled_ this entire time. We’re all hurting, hyung, but we _talk_. We curse the gods, or we just blow off steam and bicker or _anything_ , but you,” his eyes turn desperate and Jackson feels so small and _stupid_ ,- “You just- just _shut down_. I thought I needed to give you time, that you’d talk to someone eventually, but I feel like you’re just getting farther away. Like-” Jinyoung’s voice cracks and the first tear slides down, voice thick with emotion. “Like you’re as unreachable as Mark right now, just as far away.” His voice goes utterly small and soft. “Like you’re trying to follow him, whatever happens.”

It’s a slap in the face, not just because Jackson’s so sick of Jinyoung implying Mark might not wake up, but also because he can’t find it in himself to disagree. Feeling untethered he can only stand and stare. Jinyoung’s face crumples, head shaking so fiercely his hair whips into his eyes.

“No,” he states once more, grief dragging his voice down but eyes on fire. “I am not losing my best friend before I even get a chance to help, you hear me! I can’t begin to understand how you feel, I know that, but I am here!” He grabs Jackson’s shoulders, shaking the limp form of his best friend and Jackson can’t help his heart dropping at Jinyoung’s desperation.

“You have to let me in,” Jinyoung pleads, angry, “you have to let me help, because that’s what best friends _do!”_

“…I don’t deserve it,” Jackson mumbles, eyes glued to the floor. His hands slowly come up to grab Jinyoung’s, squeezing but unable to make them let go.

Jinyoung makes a confused and hurt sound, softly shaking Jackson again. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jackson presses his lips into a thin line, angry but so _tired_. Tired of this secret he’s been carrying, of seeing his friends care when they shouldn’t, of faking while he’s breaking so much faster than anyone else because it’s _all his fault._

He stops trying to make Jinyoung let go, stops fighting the other, and simply drops his hand to his pocket and brings out his phone. Getting to his voicemail is mainly muscle memory now, Jackson having done it numerous times these past six days, and then he offers Jinyoung the phone.

“Listen,” he says with a dead voice, eyes seeing Jinyoung but also not focused. The other finally releases him, taking the phone with something akin to fear on his face.

“What the hell?”

“Just listen.” Jackson steps back and nods at the phone. “You’ll understand if you listen.”

Jinyoung gives him a look like he needs a padded room and round the clock care (which, you know, fair), but then he swallows and looks at the phone. He frowns. Presses the horn. Brings the phone to his ear.

With a jerk, Jackson keeps his arm from yanking the phone away. Terror blooms in his chest as he watches Jinyoung’s face fall slack, mouth open and eyes wet as they find Jackson’s. There’s no accusation yet, but Jinyoung goes white and breathes. “…Mark-hyung.”

Jackson snaps his head down, unable to watch as tears slide over Jinyoung’s cheeks, how the other brings up a shaky hand to cover his mouth as he holds the phone in a white-knuckled grip. The message plays on repeat in Jackson’s head. He’s listened to it enough to know it by heart, to know the other five messages are three simple words that hurt Jackson more every time he hears them.

Because he doesn’t deserve them.

Jackson doesn’t deserve Mark’s soft and trembling voice saying ‘I love you’, doesn’t deserve the fact that Mark called _him_ when he was hurt, that he kept calling him even when Jackson never picked up, doesn’t deserve the heart-breaking confession or _I’m not scared when you’re there._

And now, Jinyoung knows why.

Jackson finds himself trembling. He’s looking at the ground but can just see Jinyoung’s arm falling down, phone still in his grip, as the other releases a single shaky sob.

Jackson braces for a storm of words, a flood of biting sentences that’ll cut him down (Jinyoung has always been too good at seeing Jackson’s mistakes), but all he suddenly finds himself with is an armful of Jinyoung speaking into his ear.

“Stop doing whatever it is you’re doing and tell me what you’re thinking.” Jinyoung squeezes tighter but Jackson finds himself slack and unresponsive because _why is Jinyoung hugging him!?_

“What?” he breathes.

“You’re thinking something stupid.” Jinyoung berates softly. “And whatever it is, you need to tell me, so that I can _tell_ you that it’s stupid. And untrue. And very probably so _not_ what Mark-hyung was trying to accomplish when he called you.”

The reaction is not one of many that Jackson expected, meaning he doesn’t know how to respond. Jinyoung refuses to let him go, and he can’t find it within him to return the hug. Eventually he blurts out the only thing that’s rattling around his head, the only truth he’s carried with him for days; the reason he can’t possibly face anyone right now.

“I was awake when he called.”

Jinyoung freezes, slowly stepping back and dropping his arms. Confusion wars with suspicion on his face and he holds up the phone. “What do you mean ‘awake’?

“I couldn’t fall asleep that night,” he whispers hoarsely, eyes glued to the phone. The night plays in his head like a scratchy movie reel. “It was cold and I kept turning and I should have seen the call, I would have if I hadn’t- I was tired and blocked everything out and if I just _hadn’t_ I would have seen-” he stutters “I should have seen, I should have…” The truth he’s been running from ever since the first time he heard the message slams into his chest, leaves him breathless and shaky as it explodes out of him. “Mark-hyung is going to die because I was _tired!”_

Jinyoung has him before his knees give out, grabbing him to his chest.

“I let him die,” Jackson whispers in a small voice, cheek leaning on Jinyoung’s shoulder. A stone-cold terror presses down until he’s certain he can’t breathe. “He called me and I let-”

“Shut up,” Jinyoung hisses. He struggles until Jackson’s knees finally lock again, but never let’s go.

“You’re an idiot,” he continues, desperate and hurried. “You should have let me in much sooner so I could have told you that _much sooner_ because you’re a damn fool.” He lets go and steps back, hands holding Jackson’s face tight enough it hurts as he forces the older to look at him.

“It’s not your fault,” he says softly. “It was never your fault, Jackson, you idiot. I swear you’re too good for this world-hey!” He shakes Jackson, fingers digging in deeper because Jackson tries everything he can to _not_ look at the intense gaze of his best friend (trustworthy, honest and strong Jinyoung), only to fail miserably because Jinyoung is _stubborn_.

“Jackson, look at me.”

Hesitantly, he does. “He was close to campus,” he whispers brokenly, “If I had-”

Jinyoung shakes his head. “Ten minutes. And that’s if you had run. It would have taken ten minutes to get to him.”

It throws Jackson. “How do you..?”

“Jaebeom.” Jinyoung smiles sadly. “The police told him and he got a little obsessed with trying to figure out if he could have gotten there to help, timed himself even, never mind the fact that he didn’t know anything about it until the morning. So, trust me. Ten minutes.” His hands fall to Jackson’s shoulders. “The ambulance got there in six, hyung. It wouldn’t have mattered.”

The other doesn’t get it, and Jackson breaks. “It would have … I could have talked to him I could have- he said- he was _scared_ , Jinyoung-ah. He called me because he was scared and, god, I don’t understand _why,_ but I make him less scared and- he was _scared_ , Jinyoung-ah, he was _scared_ and he called _me_ and I could have helped him.” Tears blur everything, breath hitching and voice rough from the emotion contorting his face into a painful grimace. “I could have helped him not be scared, he was _so_ _scared.”_

Even now, six days after and in no position to change the past, Jackson would give anything to erase the terror in Mark’s voice.

Jinyoung’s lower lip trembles. “It’s still not your fault, Jackson. Wanting a good night’s sleep is not your fault.” He smiles sadly. “You know, better than anyone probably, that Mark-hyung would be the first to tell you that.”

Jackson nods, tears flowing and throat on fire because fuck it, he _does_. Mark is kind and caring, especially when it comes to his friends. It simply makes him feel worse.

“He’d also tell you to stop ignoring us, and to take care of yourself better. I swear,-” Jinyoung shakes him- “he’s going to be so pissed about this neglecting you’re doing when he wakes up.”

And Jackson can’t help his terrified little whisper. “You mean ‘if’.”

“When,” Jinyoung repeats with a certainty he lacked at the beginning of this conversation. “You’ve been harassing nurses left, right and center about how Mark is going to be fine. Don’t you dare give up on him now.”

The glare he sends Jinyoung is muted by the tears still in his eyes, but the protective anger in his chest rages like a wildfire at the mere implication.

“Like hell will I _ever_ give up on him,” he snarls.

Jinyoung smiles, the barest hint of it reaching his eyes. With one last shake he takes his hands back, crossing his arms with a satisfied sigh. “There’s the Jackson I know.”

_Oh._

Jackson can’t decide whether to punch him or hug him, and settles for a wet sigh and a shaky ‘stop psychology-minoring me’.

Jinyoung’s smile gains sass. “Only if you stop being an idiot.”

“Judging by how often you call me that, I’m not sure I can.”

Jinyoung snorts. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll call you that again, but-” his expression once again goes serious- “right now, you need to stop. It was _not your fault_.”

Lacking the emotional stability to sincerely believe that, Jackson decides to give Jinyoung a break and manages a clumsy nod. “Okay,” he says.

The resulting relief on Jinyoung’s face makes up for the white lie, the younger finally losing his rigid posture. Then he nods at Jackson. “How about a shower now, so Mark-hyung won’t kill me for letting you walk around like this.”

The comment requires clear effort from Jinyoung to sound casual, and Jackson swallows the stab he feels, nodding if only to get away from this emotional rollercoaster. Without waiting he turns to his door, but Jinyoung’s voice stops him.

“And maybe, instead of blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault, you could focus on how Mark-hyung just told you he loves you, and that, when he wakes up, you can tell him you love him too.”

Jackson barely manages a nod before fleeing into his room, hiding his tears under the shower.

(He still sits by Mark’s side all day, albeit in a better state of personal hygiene.)


	3. Put me back together

Day eight.

Jaebeom and Jinyoung quite literally drag him to class. It’s the only lecture all week they share, and quite possibly the last place Jackson wants to be. But he can’t help the tiny spark of gratitude when the image of Mark (grey, sunken cheeks, still, basically life-less) is branded into the inside of his eyelids, even without him also seeing it every time he opens them. Still, he taps his desk and jiggles his leg, shooting glances at the clock every five minutes, aware of Mark being alone _(I’m scared)_ , and can’t help the anxiety buzzing in his chest.

Jackson hates the hospital, hates seeing Mark like that, but Mark can’t be alone. Mark shouldn’t be alone. Even if it kills Jackson, he will sit by Mark’s side and swallow the pain.

In another fifty minutes.

Jaebeom nudges him for the second time in three minutes and whispers under his breath, eyes firmly focused on the professor. “Sit still, or wake up with hair like you had after that botched hairdresser appointment in twenty-fourteen.”

Jackson sends him a glare, deliberately jostling his leg a little more.

A snort comes from Jackson’s other side and Jinyoung adds in a low voice. “Better bust out your snapback collection again, spiky.”

The taunt doesn’t grate like it used to, Jackson merely rolling his eyes before glaring at the clock again.

Forty-nine minutes.

It’s utterly satisfying when Jaebeom suddenly jerks so much he hits his knees on the table, the sound drawing a nasty look from their professor. The first hint of something _not pain_ pulls on the corners of Jackson’s mouth, but the feeling is instantly snuffed out when Jaebeom pulls his phone out and turns white when he sees the screen.

With barely an ‘excuse me’ Jaebeom is vaulting down the steps of the lecture hall, disappearing through the first door with a bang. The professor struggles to get the focus back, eager to continue, but Jackson’s eyes are glued to the door, heart beating hard and fast.

There’s only one reason Jaebeom would run out of a lecture like that, and Jackson turns to catch Jinyoung’s eyes, seeing his thoughts reflected in Jinyoung’s tight expression.

_Mark._

It takes fifty-two grueling seconds and twenty-nine renditions of yes-no-do-I-go-after-him before the doors slam back open, Jaebeom straight up ignoring the professor as he takes the stairs two at a time. His face is aimed at the ground so his expression doesn’t become clear until he’s right in front of them, shoving his notebook into his bag.

Jackson jumps up, grabbing his friend by the shoulders, uncaring the whole lecture hall is staring at them because _Jaebeom is smiling_.

“Did he- is- is he breathing?” Jackson stutters, his hope frail and brittle and brilliant.

Then Jaebeom does something so utterly _not him_ , the building could have exploded and Jackson wouldn’t have noticed. The raven slings his backpack on and grabs Jackson’s head, tilting it to place an honest to god _kiss_ on Jackson’s hair. With a smile wide enough to crack his face, Jaebeom leans back, shaking a shocked Jackson softly with an elated little laugh. “He _woke up_.”

Jinyoung lets out a yell and Jackson feels like he just missed the last step on the stairs, but in the best way possible. Something close to a smile creeps onto his face, the urge to hug his friend being overridden by the instant and complete desire to see Mark.

The real Mark.

His Mark.

“I’m driving!” Jinyoung shouts, pushing them both. “Get your asses in gear or I swear I’ll leave you!”

They practically fly down the stairs, Jackson’s heart thundering like it hasn’t in over a week.

_Awakeawakeawakeawakeawake_

It goes round and round as Jackson follows Jaebeom into Jinyoung’s car, as he agitatedly hits Jinyoung’s seat and urges him to _go._

“I am!” The younger snaps back at him and they fall silent, each fighting tears of happiness and dumbfounded smiles, hints of fear in their actions because hearing is not the same as _seeing_.

All Jackson has seen this past week is a shell in a bed. A man who doesn’t breathe or move, who doesn’t speak or smile or poke fun at Jackson’s past wardrobe choices.

It was Mark, but it wasn’t.

And now … he’s angry because he wasn’t there, wasn’t _right here_ when Mark woke up, but the heart-breaking _gratitude_ fills him until he’s wiping tears off his face, knee once again bouncing as Jinyoung quite possibly speeds down the streets.

Jaebeom doesn’t admonish him this time, only sending Jackson a dimpled smile, the evidence of tears on his face too.

“I texted the others,” he says. “They’re all at Youngjae’s, so it’ll take them a bit longer to get there, but they’re on their way.” He lets out a startled laugh at himself, dropping his head on the headrest and shoving a hand through his hair. Then he turns to Jackson, grin on his face. “You fucking called it.”

Jackson can’t do anything but sound confused and Jaebeom laughs again.

“’Mark-hyung will be okay’.” He recites, crescent eyes focused on Jackson. “You know him better than all those damn doctors, Jackson. You fucking called it.”

It’s a compliment close to being gratitude, and Jackson flicks his eyes to the front, catching Jinyoung’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He counters with a tentative smile. “It wasn’t just me.”

Jinyoung flashes him a smile, a real one; one that reaches all the way to his eyes, before focusing back on the road.

It takes ten minutes to get to the hospital, another two to race down the hallways and be sternly informed by a nurse Jung that Mark needs time and rest and they should, under no circumstances, keep him awake.

Their promise is forgotten the second they turn away from the man, the doorway ahead familiar enough they could dream it. Jackson draws in a deep breath, trailing just a little behind the others because he wants to see Mark, hell _needs_ to see him, but can’t possibly think about _after_. What the hell comes _after?_

Jaebeom and Jinyoung rush the dimly lit room, standing next to Mark’s bed without hesitation. Jackson follows slower, nerves suddenly in overdrive and hands clammy. The low light makes the shadows under Mark’s eyes darker, creates a bigger contrast between Mark’s black hair and his white skin. He looks like a ghost and Jackson’s heart skips a beat, blood rushing to his head as his feet fumble his next step. Fear rises because even though the tube is gone, even though Mark already looks better without it than he has all week, he’s still so damn … _still_.

Whatever tension there was breaks when Mark’s eyes tremble and open, lips sliding into a tired smile as he locks gazes with Jaebeom. “Hey.” His voice is soft and a little rough. It's the sound of heaven as far as Jackson is concerned.

It takes willpower to stay back, to watch with teary eyes and a smile hidden behind his hands as Jinyoung carefully bends over the bed to hug Mark, as Jaebeom shocks the older by doing the same thing he did to Jackson; carefully leaning down and pressing a kiss on Mark’s head.

Jackson is helpless to hide his desperate giggle at Mark’s confused expression, warmth spreading to the tips of his fingers at seeing something so utterly _Mark_.

It brings all of their attention on him, but Mark’s is the only one that really matters. Nothing much changes in the older’s expression and Jackson doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know if he _wants_ to know what that means.

Jinyoung clears his throat, shooting a glance at Jaebeom and doing that thing where they appear to have telepathic powers. It makes Jackson wary.

“We’ll go catch the three troublemakers before nurse Jung throws them out.” Jaebeom states after one last desperate squeeze of Mark’s shoulder. He focuses on Jackson and adds. “Stay with him.”

It’s a reverse of their very first time in this room, though the words seem to hold an extra layer as Jaebeom pats Jackson’s arm as he passes. With one last ‘I’m so glad to see you’ to Mark, Jinyoung follows, giving Jackson a watery smile. They’ve closed the door before Jackson can protest, shutting out any other noise and leaving him all alone with Mark.

(Jackson knows the other three beds are empty, having spent enough time here to watch at least five other patients come and go.)

Mark shifts to look at him, a grimace on his face before he flashes a tentative smile. His gown has slipped off his left shoulder, revealing skin and collarbone, and he tries to fix it unconsciously. His hand stalls halfway through, a hiss coming out as his face contorts in pain. It’s too much for Jackson to just _watch_. He rolls his eyes and steps closer without thought, leaning over Mark to pull the fabric back up. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he admonishes, his voice betraying him when it trembles.

Mark freezes under his hand, a shiver running down his arm when Jackson touches his shoulder, though he’s quick to cover it up with a smile when Jackson leans back.

“Thanks,” he croaks. “Guess I should get used to needing help with that for the time being.”

The joke, if it even really was that, falls flat, and Jackson pulls his arms back to hold himself, a critical eye on Mark and the fatigue painfully clear in his trembling smile.

A million thoughts rage in Jackson’s mind, but Mark’s exhaustion keeps them from spilling. Jackson tries to go for a reassuring smile, but figures he fails when Mark’s expression falls. Jackson sighs and shakes his head. “You need rest, hyung. I’ll go-”

“I’m sorry.”

Jackson freezes, then stares at Mark as if he’s lost his mind. “What are you-”

“I shouldn’t have told you like that,” Mark says. His eyes flick to meet Jackson’s, then focus on something on his left. “I forced a lot onto you without really thinking it through, and I’m sorry. You can forget about it, or just – please don’t feel pressured to behave any type of way.” His hands tremble just the tiniest bit, voice low and calm, but Jackson catches the hidden tension behind it. All of Mark’s tells and habits are stored in his mind, having watched the other for long enough to know when he’s being sincere, or when he’s trying his damn best to fake it.

Right now, he’s doing the latter.

There’s a war in Jackson’s head to decide whether to do this now, or heed the nurse’s words and give Mark time to rest up first. After too long of a loaded silence, Mark decides for him. His mask of calmness cracks as he lets out a shaky laugh, eyes falling to his sheets with an obvious mist to them.

“Come on, Jacks, don’t give me that look. I know I’m a sad sight right now, but I really don’t want your pity.” He blinks rapidly. “Just forget the call, okay? It was stupid and desperate and kinda pathetic, so – just forget about it, please.”

He’s turned completely away now, voice breaking on that last word, and Jackson doesn’t even need to be this well-versed-in-everything-Mark to know what that means. With a painful heart he sinks down in the chair he’s been hogging for the past week, staring silently at his very own personification of heaven as he realizes something utterly baffling.

“You think I don’t love you.” Jackson speaks slowly, needing Mark to hear his words perfectly. He’s rewarded with shaking shoulders, a very fake laugh sounding out.

“Fuck off, Jacks,” Mark says without any heat, “I know I’m your friend and all.” He’s still resolutely looking the other way, a tell-tale sign he’s crying because Mark _hates_ to let others see him cry. It’s the first time he’s done it with Jackson, though.

“Mark-hyung,” he begins, bafflement and general confusion in his voice because of all the scenarios he thought of, Mark being this blatantly spiteful about himself is not even at the end of a really long list. “What exactly do you remember saying?” Because clearly Mark isn’t remembering this the way he should.

The other shudders. “I remember everything alright, and I’m sorry. Please, just, forget about it and leave.”

But there’s no way Jackson can leave it at this. He’s shaking in his seat even thinking about what he’s about to say, but the slumped shoulders in front of him erase any doubt he might have had. Even if it all turns to hell, even if it all blows up in Jackson’s face the second Mark realizes he can do so much better, there’s no way he can let the older believe Jackson faults him for anything Mark said.

He wishes the older would turn around but eventually settles for looking at his hair. “I remember it all too,” he says softly. “I remember because I listened to it a dozen times, Mark. Because I wanted to hear your voice and because I wanted-” his voice stalls and he breathes deep, the tip of Mark’s nose becoming visible as the older turns just a little.

“I wanted to tell you I love you too,” Jackson whispers.

Suddenly he’s staring straight at Mark. Shock highlighted by the red eyes, though there’s no evidence of tears on his cheeks. Mark desperately searches his face. “What do you-”

“I have loved you,” Jackson grinds out, forcing himself to look into the dark eyes he feared he’d never see again, “for a year. Maybe even longer, but this past year- I noticed you,” he confesses. His breathing and heartrate both speeding up when Mark stays utterly still. “I kept noticing you _all the time_. I kept thinking about you, and missing you, and making you smile is the fucking high-light of my day.”

“Jackson,” Mark breathes, pained. “You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do!” He tries to pour his emotions into his stare, feels the prick of tears as he thinks back on _everything_. “I do, hyung, because you seem to think I don’t love you! Like I haven’t been sitting in this damn chair for eight days, praying to deities that I don’t even believe in for you to wake up! Like hearing your doctor tell me to ‘prepare for the worst’ isn’t literally my version of hell!”

Mark’s mouth drops, eyes wide and uncertain, still so damn uncertain. It forces out something sharp and hot and protective, a wry smile on Jackson’s lips. “I’ll never forgive myself for not answering my phone that night, Mark. I’ll never forgive myself for having it on silence and going to sleep. I should have-” his voice cracks, tears spilling out (endless tears) as the guilt rises hot and boiling to the surface.

“I don’t deserve your love and I don’t deserve your apology because I should have been there for you,” he hiccups, trying to reel in a breath but incapable because it’s Mark and he’s awake and Jackson might burst. “ _I_ messed up,” he stresses, “but don’t you ever, _ever_ , think that I don’t love you.” He’s aware he’s crying but so is Mark and Jackson carefully grabs the other’s face to wipe at the tears as he wills him to understand. “You are the most gorgeous sight right now, because I came too close to losing you and-” he cuts off because Mark’s hand is now on his face, softly caressing his cheek. Jackson stares at the most brilliant smile he’s ever seen, uncaring of the hospital outfit or limp hair, uncaring that Mark looks ashen and exhausted and has tears streaming down his face, because the smile currently on the older’s face is the first ray of light in a week of darkness and Jackson wants Mark to smile like that _every damn day_.

“You love me?” Mark says with wonder and Jackson lets out a wet huff, chest tight.

“Yes,” he answers desperately, “and I’m sorry for-” 

Mark shoots forward. His lips are chapped and crusty, colder than Jackson expected, and they pull a surprised noise out of his throat. His hands release Mark’s face to land on his waist, mind spiraling but ultimately quiet. The kiss is more of a hostage situation with Mark pressing hard onto Jackson’s mouth with barely any movement, and then the older boy braces himself on Jackson’s shoulder and pushes back, a waning grimace on his face.

His glare makes Jackson swallow his ‘are you okay’, replacing it with a single, shaky breath. “...what?”

Mark’s eyes are so much darker in the low light and they add to his heavy expression. “I needed you to shut up,” he says.

Jackson gulps and nods, hands still on Mark’s waist. “Okay,” he agrees, falling quiet right after. Lord knows he’s much too far gone for the man in front of him to deny him anything.

It makes Mark scrunch his face in confusion. “No, not- I’m not saying-” he groans, his head dropping before he fixes Jackson with a hard stare. “Stop apologizing for something that’s not your fault.” He demands. “Stop thinking so damn little of yourself, okay! I mean, you don’t deserve me? What even?” He shakes his head, taking in a wet breath.

Jackson sits hypnotized, watching Mark and wondering how a soul this gorgeous is even real.

“Jackson,” Mark whispers, shaking him by his shoulders, “you need to start seeing yourself the way _I_ see you.” His smile goes soft, face radiating warmth and love and Jackson’s heart squeezes because how is all of _this_ meant for _him._

“But I didn’t pick up the phone,” he rasps, lost in Mark’s gaze yet guilt creeping to the surface. “I couldn’t fall asleep and if I just hadn’t silenced it I could have helped you. You wanted to talk to me and-” 

Mark’s face falls. “I was selfish.” 

Jackson chokes on his words, leaning back so that Mark’s hands fall off his shoulders, taking in the other and hearing a very high and incredulous laugh come out of his mouth. “You? Selfish?”

“I know how little sleep you’ve been getting,” Mark counters. “I know Jinyoung had to force you to turn your phone off, but it all got jumbled in my head and I was selfish and scared and I should have never put all of that on you.” 

Jackson gapes. He stares at Mark because it’s all he can do, mind a whirlwind of _what the fuck_ and _is he joking_ when Mark’s face becomes pinched and angry.

“I called because I didn’t want to leave without making sure you knew how fucking amazing you are, not to give you a damn guilt-complex.” Mark shakes his head at himself, glaring at the floor. “This is why I never said anything about how I felt. I’m not good with words like you are, I just fuck everything up.” 

Which, _biggest lie of the century but not the biggest issue right now._ How the hell did this conversation devolve into Mark (who, you know, is a literal angel, but whatever) blaming himself for _Jackson’s guilt?_

“You really don’t,” he says baffled and grabs Mark’s hands. He squeezes and catches the other’s eyes. “You didn’t give me a guilt-complex, Mark. I gave myself one because you had to confess to a voicemail of all things, and I was terrified I wouldn’t ever be able to say it back.” He takes a deep breath and smiles, holding onto Mark’s gaze and hands with everything he has. “I love you, Mark. I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

Mark laughs. It’s quiet and croaky and the evidence of tears lingers on his face, but Jackson breaks at how _stunning_ the other looks.

“I love you, Mark,” he says again, just because he _can._ He loves how it rolls off his tongue, how the other blushes and smiles and leans closer.

“I love you too, Jackson.” Mark promises. “So please don’t feel guilty.” 

Jackson sighs and tries to pour the warmth he has inside into his gaze, pulling Mark forward with a gentle hand curled around his neck until he can press a kiss onto the other’s forehead. It feels easy and right and Jackson revels in Mark’s hands fisted in his sweater, in having Mark’s head resting on his shoulder, hair tickling Jackson’s chin.

He wraps Mark in a loose hug, holding him simply because he can.

Mark pokes a finger in his ribs. “Promise me, Jacks,” he mumbles.

“I would literally travel to the ends of the earth to make sure you never feel that scared or that alone ever again,” Jackson promises with fresh tears in his eyes but a happy smile trembling on his face. He hears Mark’s sharp intake of breath, feels the other go rigid and gently rubs his arm. “But I promise I’ll do my best to let it go.” 

He buries his cheek in Mark’s hair. It’s a little course and dull, but Jackson doesn’t care because yesterday Mark’s very existence was a question.

“I promise,” he repeats softly, “but only if you let go of this stupid idea that you’re selfish, or a sad sight, or pathetic, or anything else _stupid_.” 

Mark snorts and sinks a little deeper into Jackson’s chest, obviously exhausted. “Fine,” he retorts, “but only because it’s you asking.” 

The flame in Jackson’s chest swirls, filling him with warmth. He’ll never understand how he ended up deserving Mark, but he’ll hold onto the man with every single second life deems fit to give them.

“You should lie back down, Mark, you need to rest.” Jackson says with a soft smile. Affection warms him when Mark mumbles into his chest.

“This is better than the bed.”

Jackson can’t stop the wide smile from taking over, emotions still raw enough he feels new tears burning his eyes. He clears his throat and carefully pulls back, heart practically dissolving at Mark’s disagreeing grunt.

“Now I’m cold,” Mark grumbles.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson whispers, still unable to stop his smile from almost breaking his face. He gently holds Mark’s form and lowers him to lie on the mattress, having to stand up and bend over the bed to do so. When Mark lets out a soft sigh, head sinking into his pillow, Jackson brings up the blanket and tucks it around him. “There,” he smiles, “is that better?”

Mark nods sleepily, eyelids drooping, then his arm comes out to wrap around Jackson’s retreating hand. “Stay?” he rasps. “I don’t wanna wake up alone.”

_I don’t wanna die_

It slams into Jackson’s chest with vigor. His knees tremble and he pushes it away, wrestles the guilt to the side in an effort to keep his earlier promise. Then Mark blindsides him with a soft mumble, eyes already closed.

“If I wake up alone this’ll all have been a dream.” He sighs softly, voice dropping. “I don’t want this to be a dream.”

Jackson wouldn't have left under threat of death after that. He drags in a wet breath and slowly lowers himself onto the bed, on top of the covers. With a trembling hand he reaches out for Mark, pushing some hair off his forehead and reaching forward to leave another small kiss. “I’m here,” he promises once more, “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” And this time he intends to keep it.

Mark’s answering hum has his heart swelling, a soft ‘good’ tumbling out before Mark’s face goes slack in sleep. Jackson keeps running his hand through Mark’s hair, whispering soft ‘I love you’s.

And the next time Mark wakes up, when Youngjae and BamBam and Yugyeom jump up to throw their arms around him and cry, to beg him to never scare them like that again, Jackson is still lying next to him, is still looking at Mark like he’s all he ever wants to see.

Mark opens his mouth at the same time Jackson does, and this time they say it together.

“I love you.”


End file.
